


In Sickness…

by LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife



Series: A New Start [15]
Category: Belgravia (TV)
Genre: Angst, Class Differences, Friendship, Gen, Illness, Quarantine, Repressed Feelings, Servants, Victorian Attitudes, or maybe more..., victorian london
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29763489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife/pseuds/LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife
Summary: Illness descends upon the household. A quarantine is imposed.-A plan to boost his meagre pension fund and to give him a comfortable life after retirement has all gone terribly wrong for charismatic butler Turton! He's been given the old 'heave ho', kicked out on his ear with only the most basic of references. What is he going to do next?The lone wolf that is Amos Turton has to start all over again. Learning how to fit into this new, weird household is tricky when you're used to following your own rules. Within the confines of the rigid Victorian class system of course. Well, mostly... He's keeping quiet, biding his time and thinking of the money and his pension pot!Victorian London is really not a kind place for the serving classes and definitely not a good place to be destitute and poor. Which he is in danger of becoming...-Set in the Belgravia - TV Series and Book verse. All this takes place after episode 6 - the finale of the TV series - and after the book has finished.It is the early 1840s.-Alright Bambinos, please read and enjoy!
Series: A New Start [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014321
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	In Sickness…

As it was a beautiful, crisp autumn morning, Lady Morgan had decided to make her own way back from the site she was visiting that day. She had sent Mr Jones and the carriage back earlier that morning, after he'd dropped her off. But on her way back, the weather had changed. It was a typical late autumn downpour - coming from nowhere, and unleashing torrents of horrid freezing rain on anyone caught unawares. She'd forgotten her umbrella and had to run from the nearest omnibus stop all of the way back home. She was completely soaked to the skin by the time she got back. She leant against the open door frame as she paused to catch her breath after her run back home. She walked inside, accompanied by the drip, drip, dripping of water pouring off her. She slammed the door, swearing as she threw her sodden shawl down. It made a loud  _ splat _ noise as it hit the tiled floor. Her bonnet went next, the hatpins clattering onto the tiles.

Mr Turton peered his head around the drawing room door where he had been working. He had wondered about the cause of all the strange noises, he knew exactly who it was as he recognised those  _ particular _ swear words. He opened his mouth as he saw her, taking in her soggy state with one quick glance. He rushed over towards her, where she was standing, tugging at a soaked glove that was fighting back.

"Oh, hello Mr Turton. I appear to…" she tugged at the stubborn glove, "...be having…" she tugged again, "... _ problems _ … with this…" she clenched her teeth, pulling hard, "... _ wretched _ ...glove!" she sagged, the glove half off, half on her hand. She flapped it morosely. 

Mr Turton stifled a laugh. 

"Here," he held a hand out towards her. She watched his clever fingers as he took her hand in his and slowly peeled her glove down her arm. She sucked in a breath as his fingers travelled along the bare skin of her arm, following her glove down her hand, manipulating her hand and fingers, easing the glove off from her. He dropped it on the floor, it landed with a sad  _ splunk _ next to her discarded shawl. Once done, he held his hand out for her next one, taking her cold, damp hand in his warm ones and repeating his previous actions. She raised her eyes, looking at his face as he worked. His brow was furrowed in concentration and his lips were slightly open, the tip of his tongue peeked out. She blushed and dropped her eyes back down to his hands as they continued their work. His hands held her one tightly in place, working and moving her hand, turning it this way and that to remove her glove. 

"My Lady?"

"What…?"

"I just said that you need to get upstairs to your room," he repeated.

"Oh.. yes…" she sneezed. 

He guided her upstairs, helping her out of her outer layers, ignoring and tutting at her as she blushed, telling him to fetch Mrs Jones.

"Hush now, I have seen a woman in her  _ underthings _ before you know, and the sooner you are out of these wet clothes, the better!" 

He helped her strip down to her shift and petticoat, then pulled a blanket from the bed, wrapping it around her, then going around behind her to undo her hair. 

She closed her eyes as he pulled the pins from her hair and rubbed it with a dry towel. Then wrapped another dry one around her head.

He knelt down in front of her, taking her foot into his lap, he undid her boots. 

Her hands gripped the armrests of the chair as he tugged first one boot, then the other off from her. 

He looked up and smiled at her, he could only see her face peeking out from the multiple blankets and towels that he'd wrapped around her. She sneezed three times in quick succession. 

"Bless you!" he said as he built the fire up to a blazing heat.

He ran back downstairs again, shouting for Daisy to go upstairs straight away to help her Ladyship, and for Mrs Brown to get some water boiling for a bath. He hovered around in the kitchen, feeling useless as the woman bustled around him. Mrs Brown shooed him away to a corner as she boiled and re-boiled the kettle. He went back out to the hallway, remembering her wet clothing that was left there. He picked the shawl up, opening the front door and wringing it out. Then going back inside, collecting her bonnet, pins and gloves. He placed the shawl in the kitchen sink. Unsure what to do with it. He decided upon leaving it there as a surprise for Mrs Brown to deal with. Her bonnet he placed over the range, the pins on the table. He took her gloves to the sink, wringing them out and straightening them out, they were probably ruined, but he felt that he ought to at least try to save them for her. He ran his fingers along them slowly, remembering how small her hands were in his. 

"Mr Turton?" 

"Mr Turton!"

"What…? Oh Mrs Brown…?"

"The kettle Mr Turton…" she held it aloft, "you said you wanted me to let you know when I was done…?"

"Oh… yes… if you could refill it so I can make some tea for Lady Morgan."

"You'll have to move your backside from the sink then Mr Turton," she nodded at him.

"Oh… yes… sorry," he moved to the side, out of her way.

"They're probably done for you know," she said as she filled the kettle, tutting at the blob of the shawl in the sink.

"What…?"

"Her Ladyship's gloves," she said as she placed the kettle back on the range, then gathered a tray, making up the tea things and placing them there. 

"Gloves…?" he frowned at Mrs Brown's knowing smirk. "What…?" 

She nodded at his hands. 

He looked down. "Oh… yes… um… I thought… maybe…" he fidgeted with the gloves that his hands held. The kettle's loud whistling dragged him out of his musings.

Mrs Brown laughed and shook her head at him. 

He frowned back, wondering what she found so amusing.

"Here you go Mr Turton, all ready for you to bring upstairs," she placed the lid on the teapot and pushed the tray towards him. 

"Mrs Brown, you've placed two cups on the tray," he noted as he placed the gloves he held upon it and pulled the tray towards him.

"Oh yes, that's just in case," she replied, smiling at him. 

"In case…?"

"Yes. You know. In case of breakages and the like?"

He tutted and went off to bring the tray upstairs.

He balanced the tray on one arm, a knack learned at an early age, and knocked on Mrs Morgan's door.

"Hello?"

"Some tea for you, my Lady."

"Oh, please come in Mr Turton!"

He entered. She was bundled up in a massive dressing gown, curled up on the fireside chair, another towel was wrapped around her head. 

He placed the tray on her dressing table and picked her wet gloves up, placing them so that they dangled over the fire to dry. Using some ornaments on the mantle to hold them in place. 

He poured her a cup of tea, adding two spoons of sugar, just as she liked.

"My Lady."

"Oh thank you Mr Turton. I think they're probably beyond redeeming you know… the gloves," she said.

"Well… it's maybe worth a try. They were your favourite ones after all," he shrugged.

She smiled at him. Pleased that he had noticed that small detail.  _ He was exceptionally good at noticing small things like that. Things that no one else would _ , she thought. Again she shook the silly thoughts that lurked in the back of her mind, from her head.

"There's two cups Mr Turton, will you join me?" 

"Oh, yes. If you wish."

She nodded and sneezed again. 

He placed his tea cup down on the side table and knelt in front of her fire, adding more coal. 

"I think I should like to rest now Mr Turton. I don't much feel like dinner tonight," she said, passing her empty teacup into his outheld hands.

"Yes my Lady. I'll bring you up some broth in a few hours, if that's alright?" he asked.

"Yes, that would be marvelous. Thank you Mr Turton. You're far too good to me."

"It's nothing. It's my pleasure to help you, my Lady."

-

The next morning her head was thumping, her muscles ached and her throat was raw and scratchy. She didn't sleep much last night, but had tossed and turned and now felt so very tired. But she had a full schedule at the new worksite planned for today, so she forced herself out of bed, got herself dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. 

"Mr Turton," she greeted him as she entered the dining room for breakfast.  _ Oh, I'm a tad earlier than usual, I've interrupted him _ , she thought as he was still setting the cutlery and plates out. She'd guessed the time this morning. The mantle clock in her bedroom had been rather loud the night before so she'd moved it to the store room next door to stop the ticking from annoying her so much. She stood by the dining table, gripping onto the back of the chair, trying her best to offer him a smile as her head pounded.

"My Lady," he frowned.  _ She looks very pale… I hope she's not unwell, after getting caught out yesterday... _

"Are you feeling well? Please sit down," he hurried over and pulled her chair out for her to sit upon. "I won't be long setting up. Then I'll get you a nice cup of tea," he said as he pushed the chair under her. He paused, frowning.  _ She really doesn't look well. _

"Are you sure you are feeling quite alright Ma'am?" he hovered over her, unsure as to what he should do.  _ She needs to get back to bed. I should tell her to go back to bed _ , he thought, _ that is what she needs to do from the look of her ghostly features. If something were to happen to her... _

"I'm fine," she nodded, watching as Mr Turton hung next to her, a plate held mid-air in his hand, his brows creased as he looked at her.  _ The nod was a mistake _ , she thought. Her head spun and a sudden wave of nausea washed over her. She stood up to leave, but that was an even bigger error. She had to cling to the edge of the table as the room spun wildly around her. The last thing she saw was Mr Turton's scared face as he ran towards her. Then everything turned black… 

He watched her stand up from her chair, not long after she'd sat down.  _ Maybe she's forgotten something? _ Then he saw her clutch the table and start to crumple in upon herself. He dropped the plate he was carrying and ran, catching her just before her head hit the floor. He touched her forehead, she was burning up and he felt the trembles as she shivered. He tapped her cheek and she opened her eyes, to peer up at him.

"Mr Turton…? What…?"

"Shhh, don't worry, I'll take care of everything," he sat behind her, propping her up against himself. 

"Daisy!" 

_ Where was the wretched girl? She should be on her way here with breakfast! _ he thought, trying not to panic. He was too far away from any of the bell pull cords in the dining room, so his only chance to get help was to shout, as he was unwilling to leave his Mistress.

" _ Daisy! _ Hurry! Come quickly girl!" he shouted. Fear gave his voice extra impetus.

He heard Daisy's hurried footfalls nearing, then come to a skidding halt as she turned into the dining room.

"Oh! What's happened Mr Turton…!  _ The missus _ ...?!" she gasped, holding her hands up to cover her mouth.

"Don't come any closer! Go and fetch Doctor Bentham! And tell Mrs Jones to keep the children away! Run, girl!  _ Now! _ " he shouted at her.

He couldn't stay here, on the floor, so he made a decision. He lifted his Mistress up.  _ She feels so small and light _ . She didn't protest at his manhandling of her person, just mumbled incoherently at him, lolling her head against his shoulder. Her arms and legs hung limply in his gentle grasp as he carried her up to her bedroom. He lay her down on her bed, pulled her shoes off and loosened her upper clothing somewhat. He heard the front door open and close. 

"Up here! In the Mistress's bedroom!"

The doctor said that it was probably a chill, possibly influenza. Just as Mr Turton had thought he would. He'd seen the symptoms before. It hadn't always ended well… 

"There are children here? In the household?" the doctor asked.

"Yes. Two. Both under ten," Mr Turton answered.

"They'll need to be kept away, just in case."

Mr Turton nodded. "You'll need to speak to their Nanny, Mrs Jones. Advise her and Mrs Brown downstairs on what needs doing here, in the household."

"I'll send a nurse over…"

"No need. I'll stay and nurse her," Mr Turton said, his lips tight, as he shook his head. "I was nearest to her anyway yesterday and this morning, so I may as well stay. Any contagion that was there… I've already caught," he shrugged. 

The doctor nodded. "If you could help me then… she needs changing into a nightgown…" 

So now, the pair of them are confined to her large bedroom. The doctor had ordered that the rest of the staff were to stay in their part of the house. The children were to be kept down there too. All to be confined as far from the horrible disease as possible until it passed. He'd also said that he'd leave a list of medicines with Mrs Brown, not that there were many, just some tonics and willow bark tincture to help with the fever. Doctor Bentham didn't approve of blood letting.  _ Not that I'd allow that quackery to happen! _ Mr Turton vowed.

-

She burned with fever for two days and two nights. He spent most of the time mopping her forehead with a flannel to try and keep her cool and also making sure that she drank enough water and took some of the tincture. Propping her up so that she could take small sips. He smiled at her grimace when she tasted the medicine. He took it as a good sign though, it meant that she was still here with him. He took a taste himself.  _ God-awful stuff! _ he thought as he scrunched his own face up at the bitter tasting liquid.

Food and other necessities are left outside the door. He'd organised a routine for everyone to follow. There's a knock, then he counted to sixty to give the deliverer time to safely depart. Notes on scraps of paper are left by the side of the empty tray. They would be used to ask for specific things. Or were left by the rest of the household telling him of the goings on out there.

She insisted on holding his hand. Even in the depths of her fever, she gripped his hand tightly. As if his hold on her was the only thing stopping her from leaving permanently. 

On the first night he slept in the fireside chair he sat in as he watched her, which he'd shoved next to her bed. But it's awkward with her clinging to his hand. Tiredness forced him to rethink on the second night. He gingerly climbed up onto the overly large bed, pushing his shoes off. His morning coat was already discarded, as was his waistcoat and tie, but he kept his trousers and shirt on. He slept on top of the covers that she's under to preserve at least some sense of decorum. With the fire blazing at his side, he was certainly warm enough.

In the morning, he woke, still lying on his back, the same position he'd fallen asleep in, but she'd moved. He turned to his left. She had turned, facing him, his hand was still held in one of hers, between them. 

She mumbled in her sleep. He felt her forehead. Normal! Her fever had broken. He's not a praying man, but he offered a silent thanks upwards. The relief he felt came out as a choked laugh. Tears pooled in his eyes. He swiped them away roughly, laughing and smiling widely.

-

He knew that he'd caught whatever she had. He felt his head fogging with pain, his throat becoming scratchy and he was inordinately hot and sweaty. He said nothing though, not when she was still recovering. 

His secret was discovered though, when he dropped the bowl of soup he was carrying over to her, from outside the door, into the room. She came rushing over. Noting his shaking hand and feeling his forehead. She frowned at him. 

"It's nothing…" he said, pulling away.

"You're ill!" It's both a statement and an accusation. She shooed him away, over towards the bed and ordered him to lie down. He gladly agreed. Relieved to rest his pounding head and aching muscles.

She tidied the mess at the door, and added a scrawled note with instructions for a replacement soup for her. She also added details for getting some money from her writing bureau to procure some things to help her nurse Mr Turton. All was added to the tray which she placed outside the door.

She rummaged in the drawers in her room and pulled out a man's nightshirt. 

"My husband's," she explained as she handed it to him. She turned her back as he divested himself of his clothing and slowly changed into it. 

It felt weird wearing a dead man's clothing, but he didn't really care as he lay back down again. His head was pounding and everywhere ached. He just wanted to sleep.

She fetched the water bowl and flannel and mopped his brow. Their roles now reversed. She bit her lip as she felt how warm he was, how he was burning under her touch.

"I'm sorry. Sorry that you caught this from me," she sniffed.

His eyes opened slowly, and he placed a hand on hers.

"Not your fault," he said in a deep scratchy voice, squeezing her hand with his. He sighed and then closed his eyes again. 

"You need to wait sixty seconds before opening the door after a knock, Mrs Brown has everything organised downstairs. And Mrs Jones says that the children are both fine. Neither is ill," he said, his voice low and whispered.  _ He is ever the Butler, always organising, even when he is as sick as he is now. _

"Don't worry about anything Mr Turton. All will be well soon enough…" she prayed that this would be true.  _ I can't deal with yet another death _ , she thought.

She couldn't help crying as she sat and tended to him. He was her friend, not just a servant or staff. She couldn't bear the thought of losing him, or any of her small 'found family' that she'd gathered around her. She had lost most of her blood family, just her precious children were left, so much so, that her new family felt all the more precious to her.

He eventually fell into a fitful sleep. She curled up on the chair next to the bed, anxiously trying to watch him, to tend him, but her drooping eyelids fought against her.

There's a knock on the door, causing her to jump awake. Her hands twisted and turned as she counted the required sixty seconds, then she rushed to open the door. There's her food, and a bowl full of ice, just as she'd asked for. She brought all of it over, eating her soup as fast as her stomach would allow. Then, she placed the bowl of ice on the bedside table, and wrapped some in the flannel which she placed on his forehead. Also holding an ice cube up to his mouth and letting it melt against his lips. She repeated her actions several times until the ice was all melted away.

She worked her way through several dozen bowls of ice like this for the next two days until his fever finally broke, his temperature back to normal after the second night of sweating. She's so overjoyed at this that she broke down in tears. She laughed and cried, both emotions battling, she was unsure as to which would win.

He turned his head towards her, a frown of confusion on his sweaty face.

She quietened, the tears were now streaming silently from her smiling face.

He looked at her, his brow furrowed. He recognised that feeling. He'd experienced it himself when her fever had fled.  _ Blessed relief! _

He stretched his hand out towards her, his fingers beckoning her weakly to him. He's not a hugger, he always shied from physical contact, but he can clearly see that she needed some comfort. He's too weak to deny her anything at the moment.

She rushed towards him, climbing on the bed and lying next to him on her side, holding his hand between hers. Their hands being their only contact, but it's enough for the both of them. He carefully turned his head towards her and smiled.

She laughed at him.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Sorry, but the gruff Mr Turton smiling is not an everyday occurrence, forgive my mirth at your expense," she explained, her laugh subsided into small giggles as she wiped her tears away.

He harrumphed, still smiling though. He turned his head back slowly, it still throbbed, making him dizzy if he moved it too rapidly. He stared up at the ceiling, waiting for everything to be still again.

"You'd better not tell anyone about that, or there'll be severe consequences!"

"Oh?"

"Yes," he smirked up at the ceiling, "I'll make you do your own accounts!" 

"Oh!" she gasped with faked indignation, "You wretched man! I thought you were my friend! That is such a wicked, vile, evil threat!" she poked his arm gently.

He chuckled at her. His head still hurt, but he's glad of the frivolous nature of their conversation.

He stifled a large yawn and stared up at the ceiling again. Another jaw cracking yawn and his eyes grew droopy and eventually closed. It didn't take him long to fall asleep. 

She fussed for a while, making sure that he was tucked under the rumpled bed covers properly. He's so fast asleep, he doesn't wake as she moves him a little to get the pillows and blankets just so. 

She banks up the fire, piling up as much coal as she dared. Then she scribbled a note to leave outside the door.

'Both well! Mine and Mr Turton's fever has finally passed, thank God! Both very tired and catching up on sleep. Please just leave cold sandwiches, fruit and the like and some ale or beer outside. Please do not knock, as Mr Turton is finally fast asleep and I am so tired also. Ps I saw him SMILE and LAUGH and make a JOKE. But don't tell him I told you so, and burn this message after reading or he'll never forgive me!!!!!'

She yawned as she walked back to the bed, climbing under the sheets. Utter tiredness caused her to not give a fig for proprietary or decorum. She curled up on her side, keeping as respectable a distance as she could between them. The last thing she saw as she fell into the welcoming arms of sleep was Mr Turton's relaxed face. He looked so different without his usual scowl or frown. Although she had noted that he was most definitely smiling more often now. Not as often as he frowned though, but his smile was definitely there to be seen now.

-

Something was tickling his ear. It forced him to open his eyes. He couldn't tell what time it was, probably daytime judging by the angle of the light filtering into the room? He looked to his side to see what was annoying him. He closed his eyes again swiftly when he observed the reason. He slowly opened his eyes again and looked, checking to make sure what he saw was not a figment of his imagination, or a dream, or some other such fever induced phantasm.

Lady Morgan was curled up against him! Her head was resting on his shoulder, her breath in his ear was what had woken him. She was asleep. One of her hands was resting on his chest, the other tucked between them. One of his treacherous arms was under her, wrapped around her, holding her to him. 

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to think back. He remembered her laughing at his smile and him threatening her with the account books if she blabbed about that. He didn't remember much after. He was so tired. He still was! He vaguely remembered her shivering next to him and him holding his arm out to her.  _ What had he been thinking? _ No, he knew  _ exactly _ what he was thinking. He wanted to fix her problem as best as he could. She was cold, he could warm her. Simple as that. He sighed, trying to decide what would be the best way to extricate himself without waking her. He frowned.  _ An impossible task! _ His decision was taken from him though, by the loud rumbling and shoutings of the rag and bone man and his cart outside. He moved his arm, trying to use the cover of the noise, causing her to stir, to move away.

Her eyes opened and she had the same look on her face that was probably on his when he woke. 

She blushed furiously and sat up. His arm dropped away from her side.

He just lay there, eyes closed.

"Um…" she said. "I'll just go and check outside the door. I asked Mrs Brown to leave some food outside before we… er… before we... um... fell asleep…"

She rushed over to the door.

He sat up slowly, still fuzzy headed, but the dizziness had gone. He noticed that she had put clean underwear, a nightshirt and a dressing gown out for him. He took the clean items, and padded into the bathroom that was attached to the bedroom. The first thing he did was dunk his face into a bowl of cold water and count to ten. He took his time to slowly wash himself in the same cold water, trying to calm himself down, as well as to get rid of the sweat. He then dried himself and took a deep breath before finishing his ablutions and changing into the clean clothes, wrapping himself up tightly in the long dressing gown. He was still so very bone tired and weak. He walked back into the bedroom, unsure as to what he'd find there. He hoped he'd not ruined their friendship with his actions.  _ Stupid man! _ he chided himself.

-

She took the time while he was in the bathroom to change the sweaty bed sheets with crisp clean ones from the store next door. Anything to keep busy and her mind off from what had just happened. Then she knelt in front of the almost dead fire, to try and get it going again. She prodded at it angrily with the poker.  _ It was all so unfair! She was so stupid! _ She'd finally found someone that she could trust again. A friend.  _ Now I've messed it up. _ She gave the fire another angry poke.  _ So unfair! _ She hoped he wouldn't mention anything about earlier, it was all so embarrassing.  _ I definitely won't! _

-

Upon returning to the bedroom, he noticed that Lady Morgan was kneeling in front of the fireplace, wrapped up in a massive dressing gown. She was fiddling with the fire, he thought that she was trying to rekindle it's dying flame, but actually she was just annoying it and making it stutter. He tutted.  _ She'd not achieve anything doing it like that _ he thought as he watched her jab at the fire with the poker.

"Here, let me try," he said gently, holding his hand out to accept the poker she held. She offered him a small smile and went over to sit on the bed. 

He got the fire roaring away to his satisfaction, feeding it with more coal to keep it going for a goodly few hours. He stood, took a calming breath and turned around. He'd decided not to mention anything about earlier, and hoped that she wouldn't either. He found that she was sitting on the bed primly, legs crossed, nibbling at a sandwich, plate balanced in her lap and sipping at a tankard of beer. She offered him a small smile and pointed to the table on the side of the bed closest to him. 

"You should eat. And drink," she smiled and pointed at a plate of food and a tankard on the table next to him. "We've been asleep almost a full day. I checked your pocket watch," she pointed to the dressing table where it rested, next to his neatly folded uniform. "It's four in the afternoon! You'll still be feeling weak and tired. I know I am and I had two days head start on your recovery Mr Turton." 

He nodded and sat on the chair between the bed and the fire. He devoured the sandwich and apple, then happily downed the tankard of beer almost in one. He was starving and very thirsty.

"There's another couple of bottles on the tray over by the door. And some more fruit and bread if you want. I've got enough to eat, so any food there is all yours," she said, happy that he was eating and drinking almost as normal again and relieved at nothing being mentioned about  _ that _ incident!

He nodded and collected all three bottles of ale, another hunk of bread, and some grapes. He refilled his tankard, drank it, then opened another bottle and refilled his tankard again. He pointed at hers.

"A refill of yours, my Lady?" he asked.

"I suppose I'd better," she smiled, "before you drink it all," she teased. 

"I'm not sure where Mr Jones procures it from, and to be honest, I'm probably better off not knowing, but it's certainly the best I've ever had. Not like the watery rubbish from the Horse and Groom," he chuckled as he reached over to her proffered tankard and topped it up. 

"Is that where you sometimes go on your time off?" she asked.

"When I was employed by the Trenchards it was. Now I've no need to visit pubs for a drink," he raised and shook the, now empty, bottle of ale. "Mr Jones also manages to acquire a lovely gin. Not the usual rough brew I'm used to," he said wistfully, wishing for a cup or two of that right now.

She nodded.

"I tend to walk the park now, on my afternoons off, if the weather is agreeable. Or go and help out at the almshouses if I know that you'll be there."

She smiled at that, glad that he was taking an interest in the family project.

"You must let me know if you've any more ideas about there, Mr Turton. However small, all suggestions are welcome. The other staff already know this."

"I will my Lady," he answered.

"The same goes for the running of the house of course."

He nodded.

"Or anything else," she took a large drink of her ale. "Never feel afraid to talk to me. About anything," she looked pointedly up at him.

He sighed. Downing the contents of his tankard and emptying the last bottle into it. He drank all of that and stretched his stiff legs out in front of him towards the fire. He felt settled now, belly full, warm from both the fire and the ale. He was certainly ready for another sleep he thought as he tried to stifle a yawn.

"I've never been one for talking, about emotions or the like. Never had anyone to talk to, or to listen to me even if I'd ever wanted to," he shrugged as he looked over and watched the flames dance. "The higher you go in a household, the less people of your rank there are. It's a cut-throat life. Any secrets you let out can and will be used against you," he yawned again. "There's always some other bugger standing behind you. Willing to stab you in the back so they can step into your shoes. Literally!"

"That sounds like a very lonely existence," she frowned. She reached over to take the empty plate and tankard from his hands, they were in danger of slipping from his grip and onto the floor. She placed them on top of her plate, where it was sitting on the bed next to her. 

He let out a small chuckle and glanced up at her. "You get used to being alone after a while. Used to your own company. Come to relish it. As an escape from the others who'd happily laugh at your downfall and also as a relief from all the other household dramas and politics." His attention returned again to the brightly dancing fire.

"The Horse and Groom was my escape, in Belgravia. I could happily sit there quietly at a table by myself. Just me and a bottle of gin. Watching all the goings on around me," he added. "If you sat there for long enough, you'd see the full spectrum of society. From prostitutes to politicians, often at the same time," he shook his head at the remembered memories.

"Anyone famous?" she asked, smiling at him.

"Oh! Now that would be telling," he looked over at her again and chuckled.

"Are you teasing me Mr Turton?" she smiled and raised an eyebrow at him.

He smiled and shook his head.

"Did you never find a… a companion, someone to keep you company?" she asked quietly.

He looked down and frowned. Trying to word his reply carefully. Tiredness and alcohol had already loosened his tongue more than usual.

"It's frowned upon for servants to engage in relationships. As a butler, if I married, then I'd be sacked, forced to leave. I've always been careful to never daly with anyone in my household, even if I was sorely tempted. It'd just be used against me. So, like many men, I visited prostitutes for a physical release," he looked up carefully, unsure of her reaction at his candid admission.

She was blushing. 

"We all have to find relief, companionship or comfort where we can," she finally said. "The society we live in often forbids us from having relations where we'd want to, if the choice was our own to make," she answered, staring at him. 

He stretched and yawned widely.

"You should come and lie down, Mr Turton. Please. You're about to slide off that chair and into the fire, you're that tired! And I've not the strength to clean up the big mess  _ that _ would make," she laughed. 

He paused. He didn't want a recurrence of earlier, but he was deathly tired. The illness, warm fire and the wonderful ale had all thoroughly worn his resolve down. He sighed and stood. 

"Um… I think I will. If that's alright. I'll first though..." he left the sentence half formed and instead pointed at the bathroom.

She nodded.

When he came back in, she'd taken the plates and tankards from the bed. They were placed on the tray, along with the empty ale bottles. She was writing a note to go on the tray, to all be placed back outside the door. He took his dressing gown off and collapsed into the bed, not realising how tired he really was. He sighed into the cool, clean, cotton sheets. 

She looked over and smiled at him, glad he was finally relaxing. He let out a huge, body shaking yawn. He heard her giggles and lifted his head to look down his body at her, where she was standing at the end of the bed. He smirked as she tried to smother a yawn herself. 

He rested his head back. Sleep swiftly claiming him again. 

She frowned, an idea was forming.  _ Maybe? _ she thought, then smiled. She collected all the spare pillows from inside the chest at the end of her bed, laying a line of them down the middle of the bed. Fortifications against the utter embarrassment of earlier happening again. She'd welcomed his closeness, his touch, his maleness, not having experienced any since her husband's last attentions towards her years ago. But she didn't want to risk his friendship. Not for anything so base. She valued his friendship far more.

She sighed. She was in two minds as to whether to sleep here with him or not, but the only other option was the wretched chair. And that thing was not conducive to a decent night's sleep.

The pillow wall was a compromise, allowing them to share the bed, but stay apart, forcing them into keeping their distance. 

Their enforced segregation from everyone and imposed quarantine together would only last another day. They would part after that. Each back to their own spaces. Maybe not exactly as they were, but the closeness of this time would be over. So, she elected to sleep here, with him, determined to survive this close companionship as happily and as comfortably as she could. To keep everything as normal as possible, for both their sakes.

She lay down on her side, facing him. Again having his serene face the last thing she saw as she drifted off herself.

-

The morning sunlight shone brightly. He blinked his eyes open. Looking carefully to make sure that a repeat of yesterday hadn't happened. He was still on his side, she on hers. They were not next to each other again. He felt a twinge of something at that.  _ Regret? Thankfulness? Sadness? Relief? _ He wasn't entirely sure. 

She was still fast asleep. So he took the opportunity to observe her for a while. She wasn't usually so still. She was always so  _ busy _ with something or other. Always swirling around, like a miniature maelstrom.

They were both lying on their sides, facing each other. A row of pillows had been placed between them,  _ she must have put them there when I was asleep? _ But the defence was breached.  _ She had probably reached her arm out towards me as she slept, maybe? _ Her hand groping for him in the dark had found her prize. She'd dragged his hand and arm towards her. Her small hand was clenched tightly around his. Not only was her hand grasping his, her cheek was resting against his hand as she slept. Like a child with its comfort toy. He gently flexed his stiff fingers, daringly brushing them against her cheek.

He froze. She didn't wake. He was relieved that she stayed asleep and wouldn't see his unintended lapse of judgement. 

He was a lone wolf, used to his own company, as he'd explained yesterday. That didn't mean that he'd a heart of stone. He knew that Mrs Morgan was lonely. She relied on her staff, and increasingly himself, for company. He knew that her peers spurned her for her embarrassing, in their opinion, charitable works and for her refusal to re-marry. He couldn't offer her what she really needed, another husband. Knew she wouldn't want his advances anyway, even if he were free to do so. But he could, instead, offer her comfort, companionship, friendship and someone to confide in. Something,  _ anything _ that was within his power to keep her loneliness at bay.

He'd not visited any prostitutes since just after he'd started working here. He'd been sent one that looked too like her Ladyship for his own comfort. In the end, he'd not been able to do anything. He'd not wanted to. He'd paid her and fled. He'd happily abstain rather than go through  _ that _ again.

He was secretly glad that his Mistress had found companionship with him and not with someone else. He hated how the Lordlings flitted around her, vying for her attention. None had been as bad as Byerly. Yet… And he'd no intention of letting another like him anywhere near her Ladyship. Would it change things between them if a Lord finally won her heart? Most certainly. But he'd be happy for her. Content that she'd found someone to love. Someone worthy of her.

He closed his eyes again and fell back to sleep. Not exactly a contented sleep, but he was glad to be doing his best for her, to make her as happy as he could. 

-

She blinked her eyes open, warm sunlight waking her. She looked around, checking to see that a repeat of yesterday afternoon hadn't occurred. He was still on his side of the huge bed, she on hers. She felt somewhat saddened by that. She'd enjoyed the comforting feeling of being held in his warm embrace. It reminded her of the security of when she was a child, with no worries to niggle at her.

He was still sleeping. He was relaxed and content, no worry lines or frowns marred his face.

They were both lying on their sides, facing each other. The row of pillows was still between them, a silent chaperone. He must have reached his arm out towards her in the night though, while he slept. Her small hand was held tightly in his grip. But, not only was her hand held in his, his hand was touching her cheek, resting against her as they slept. 

She smiled. Glad that he was still asleep and wouldn't see how much his touch comforted her.

He was used to his own company, as he'd firmly explained to her yesterday. She knew that Mr Turton was lonely though. She recognised the same symptoms in him that she felt in herself. No man was an island after all. But she could gladly offer him friendship, companionship and someone to talk to if he ever felt the urge to.

She'd hated the feeling of shock that had sprung up inside her when he'd mentioned that he'd visited prostitutes. She'd heard her husband talk about certain  _ illnesses _ that his men succumbed to after visiting them. But she was happy that he'd at least found the physical release he'd needed. 

She envied him that. 

She despised how the lordlings flitted around her, vying for her attention. None of the others had been as bad as Byerly. So far... And she'd no intention of letting another like him anywhere near her ever again. 

She'd have to get married again one day she supposed. But she'd done fine so far, without another husband. She was already shunned and frowned upon for staying single for so long. That's why she never went to any stupid balls or dances any more. It was only the safe cushion of her wealth that allowed her to carry on as she was. She looked over at Mr Turton again. Would her marrying change this friendship they'd found? Definitely. Until then, she'd be content. Husband be damned!

She closed her eyes again and fell back to sleep. Not entirely a content sleep, but she was happy to be doing her best for him, to make him as happy as he would allow her to.

**Author's Note:**

> The keen eyed of you may have spotted some of this in some of my Dyat-love scribblings. This was written first, waaaayyy before 'There was only one bed' with the angerey woodpecker...


End file.
